The Contessa
by Hidden Relevance
Summary: one shot An introspective look at one of the Companion's Guild. Original character but ties to Inarra and Mal.


He never used my name, just introduced me as merely the "Contessa." I smiled and offered my hand to our host, ignoring the knowing smirks that flickered across the faces of some of Lord Marshall's other guests. At least, I tried to ignore them. It went against our training to ever completely dismiss the reactions of those around us. In private, that awareness was a gift, an essential part of our training. In public, that training tended to be a burden. Luckily, we were also trained to hide our true thoughts, appearing serene despite the setting.

I shook off my dark mood and returned my attention to my escort. Or more accurately, the man I'd been hired to escort. There were only a handful of clients that I would agree to accompany to social functions, the good Lord Marshall's little shindig. I was always selective in choosing my clients, as most Companion were, but I was more so on these types of occasions when my profession would be less than welcome. No matter how much my mentors at the Training House might have insisted that our order was a tradition stretching back through generations, there were still those who saw us as the lowest level of society. I didn't blame them, really. Companion, consort, courtesan: they were merely fancy words for whore. I might be a skilled whore, and an expensive whore, but I was still a whore.

Few of my clients had ever treated me as anything more. The man at my side was one of those few. As he'd so patiently explained to me when he first became my client, Archduke Clayton Ranes had been raised to treat all women with courtesy, as should, in his opinion, be their due. We were the fairer, gentler sex, and so, should be cherished. I'd left the Training House bare months earlier and at the time had thought that all my clients might believe the same way. I'd been lucky really- to meet him so early in my career. The memory of his words and his honesty would continue to warm my heart when little else did. It was out of gratitude and true affection, something hard to find in my profession, that I accompanied him this evening.

Still, as we joined the many couples whirling about the dance floor, I wondered at his introduction. I studied his face when the steps of the dance allowed it, trying to determine if I'd misjudged him these past few years. No, he still seemed to regard me with the same mix of open admiration and respect. So why the change in title? I continued to gage his actions throughout the night, weighing them against my prior knowledge of him. As I did, I noticed something odd. "Contessa" was the only title he used. Our host was only Marshall; Lady Ophelia merely Ophelia. Granted, my client's status was such that he might get away with such familiarity, but I wondered at that slip of protocol from my typically proper client. Nor was I the only one to notice. Several of the more eligible young ladies attending the party were beginning to look rather put out by Clayton's apparent lack of regard.

Finally, I could stand it no longer. Gently, I tugged him out to a deserted balcony. Once there and free of prying eyes and ears, I asked him for an explanation. Subtly, or so I thought until his quiet chuckle. He reached out and softly tucked a stray wisp of hair behind my ear, leaning forward as he did so to whisper my name. Unexpectedly, I shivered. He'd made my name much more of a caress than a simple mode of address. His lips lingered near my ear, as he softly told me that no one here would ever know me, know my name, the way he did. He met my gaze and grinned, the smile reminding me of the boyish man he'd been the day of our first contract. I realized I'd missed that smile. He offered me his arm, and we returned to the party.

As we mingled with the other guests, I considered his words with no small amount of glee. I watched my client as he conversed, never straying too far that I might not see him, I noted. I found myself reminded of something my mentor had the Training House had mentioned. Inara had been one of the greatest Companions to date, but had chosen to traverse the black aboard a near-derelict Firefly transport of all things. Few of my graduating class had been able to grasp just what about such a life could have possibly appealed to such a lady. They'd only been more confused when she'd left the Guild completely, vanishing from the Training House grounds one evening not long after I'd graduated. The Guild as a whole had been stunned, and even betrayed, by her so-called defection. Watching Clayton, I now wondered if she had not been misjudged. I hadn't thought of it in some time, for she'd only spoken of the Serenity and her crew rarely, but when she did, she'd mentioned them like family. I had no doubt that they had been far nearer to her heart than most of her Guild colleagues.

In particular, I now remembered, she'd seemed to long for her Captain. She never spoke of him directly of course. Beyond a brief mention of his strange habit of referring to her as the ship's "Ambassador," most of my classmates would have never known he existed. I had, but then, I was the most gifted of my class when it came to the true purpose behind our Guild. A successful Companion needed to be able to gage a client's true desires and needs, even if the client never realized what we did. I could, in turn, also read what other Companions needed. It didn't always ingratiate me with my fellows, but it did give me an edge. And as long as I had known her, Inara had desired only one Malcolm Reynolds. I felt sure she'd left the Guild for him and with him.

"Contessa." Clayton recaptured my attention with that single word. It was an intriguing title, I decided; at least equal in regard to that of Ambassador. Clayton raised an eyebrow at me. I'd begun to grin without ever noticing it. I shook my head; he could wait for my explanation. I had the feeling we would have plenty of time together.

Contessa. It was beautiful, really. 


End file.
